


A Ring and a Prayer

by neevebrody



Category: Thoughtcrimes/Dawson's Creek Crossover
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the fuck, dude? What's it to you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ring and a Prayer

Vincent felt his way down the hall and stopped at the door to their bedroom. Brendan was already in bed, which was a good place for him at 2:00 a.m. Vince's head hurt and his heart beat against his chest like gangbusters. Even though it was late (or early), he suspected Brendan was still awake.

Still, Vince tried to be quiet getting to his side of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, silently stripped, then sat on the edge. He was almost afraid to climb in. If Brendan drew away from him, he couldn't take that. Fuck, the night so wasn't supposed to end this way.

~~~~

Study group had been grueling and, for the first time, Vince had been a little self-conscious and unsure of himself. The closer the first-years got to the end of term, the edgier everyone seemed. So when Carver clapped Vince on the shoulder and suggested beers at Edsel's, the decision to go was a no-brainer.

Carver V. Hudson, III fell somewhere in the middle of five brothers and sisters, hailed from North Providence, Rhode Island, graduated _magna cum laude_, and scored five points higher than Vince on the LSAT. He loved country music and drinking and stood out in any crowd with his retro, Linc Hayes afro, pastel polo shirts, and Cole Haan loafers with no socks.

Frequented by locals and students alike, Edsel's was an off campus hole-in-the-wall. Interesting, but not pretentious and, typical of a Friday evening, the long, narrow room was loud, the faded but usually clean black and white linoleum tiles barely visible under all the humanity. In existence since the '20s, the one constant was the hand-carved oak bar that stretched half the length of the building. Finished and refinished over the years, it was the backbone of the place and, on nights like this, kept four bartenders on their toes.

A few other regulars from the study group straggled in around their second beer, pulling up chairs around the booth Carver and Vince had staked out, one that was about midway down, across from the bar. Opinions were rampant across the board as to what Professor Lehman's contracts final would be like. Conjecture ran to various forms of medieval torture and whether or not Lehman himself was the incarnation of a 14th Century Inquisitor General.

It took another beer and a couple of shots before Vince realized he was missing something. He'd just acknowledged yet another beer sent his way by a nice looking blonde at the bar when his pants began to vibrate.

Fishing out his cell, he smiled and covered his ear as he flipped it open. Not sure if Brendan could hear him, Vince explained where he was and ordered, "Get your ass down here," before closing the phone and calling Carver's bluff that he had some secret intel on Lehman's exam.

While he and Carver had attracted a few more girls to the small entourage surrounding their booth, Vince kept looking up the narrow space, over unfamiliar faces, and past bared, bejeweled bellies to the door. Carver, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the view and the attention. Carver very rarely ended a night alone… at least to hear him tell it.

Vince had just knocked back his last shot when he saw Brendan surfing the crowd to get to them. He was wearing the chambray shirt Vince had bought him, jeans, and the navy blazer that reflected blue in his eyes. Vince still got tight in his pants whenever he saw Brendan in public; that shit would never get old.

Introductions were made and Carver stood to reach Brendan's outstretched hand. When he did, Vince got a nose full of Carver's cologne. The expensive notes danced on the air and Vince decided that, yes, his friend probably never did go home alone. He smiled stupidly as Brendan and Carver engaged in the 'heard a lot about you – yeah, it's all true' back and forth, and at how Brendan always put away his shyness to meet Vince's friends.

Just then, one of the newly-acquired entourage-ettes sidled up to Brendan, did a double take, and made a very pointed suggestion about twincest fantasies. Catching Brendan's eye, Vince mouthed, "grab a beer," and frowned when the girl shadowed Brendan to the bar.

The high ceilings acted as a sort of megaphone for the acoustics, but all the conversation around Vince became a muddled roar as he kept his eyes on the girl. Her mouth hadn't stopped moving since she walked away. The room was getting too warm and the damn music seemed to mirror his own pulse; he was lost in a kind of tunnel vision. The girl chattered away and Brendan would look at her and smile as he tried to catch the attention of one of the bartenders. But it was the hand resting on Brendan's back that set Vince's teeth on edge. Why was it taking so fucking long to get a beer? He looked down at his own bottle as he twirled it in wet circles on the table top.

When he dared look up again, Brendan had his beer, but he was still standing at the bar and the girl still had her goddamn hands on him. Vince nudged Carver not-so-gently, his head spinning as he stood up, and whoa, he'd had too much to drink. He really needed to take a piss, too, but some things were more important.

Edging up to the pair, Vince couldn't help noticing the way she had her breasts pressed into Brendan's arm. That sent a white-hot flash through his brain: Brendan with her, the two of them, together, watching them. He found himself strangely balanced on the finely-honed edge between jealousy and arousal, but looking into Brendan's eyes tipped him over.

Vince lifted the girl's hand from his lover's hip as if he were picking through trash. His words very direct: "Do you mind?"

"What the fuck, dude? What's it to you?" Several people within earshot turned to stare.

Vince smiled at her. "Because Little Boy Blue here is mine," he replied and, amid whistles and cat-calls, Vince turned Brendan's face to him and kissed him. But Brendan stiffened and pulled away. He set his beer back on the bar, excused himself, and headed for the door.

A little stunned, Vince caught up to him and spun him around. "What's up with you?"

"What's up with you, Vince?" Brendan's eyes were ablaze and his cheeks flushed. "Jesus, that was—is that why you asked me down here? Something to amuse your friends?" He pulled his arm free. "I'm not a fucking party game. You come home with me, and I'll screw you six ways from Sunday, but I will not stand around and let you paw me in public, not to—"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." In a gesture he admittedly probably overused, Vince stuck out his lower lip. The pouty face always got to Brendan.

"Christ, I can't talk to you right now." Except the times when it didn't work at all. "You're shitfaced and I'm not wasting my time." Brendan took a few steps past people who were no longer interested – Vince right behind him – before he turned around. "Seriously, Vince, Little Boy Blue?"

Vince nudged against him. "Mmm, wanna go home and blow my horn?"

Obviously, Brendan didn't see the humor. "Oh, I'm going."

"Fuck you, then."

"Yeah? I wouldn't count on that." The look on Brendan's face wasn't one Vince saw often; it was deadly to match the tone of his voice. "You need to sober the fuck up."

Vince watched him walk back to the booth, speak to Carver, and hand him something before making his way to the door. He didn't even look back.

~~~

Vince looked back over his shoulder. Brendan hadn't moved; he was waiting for Vince, and Vince knew it. "You still mad?" he asked.

"Are you sober?" Brendan's voice wasn't drowsy or heavy, which was a bad sign.

"I think so. Carver took me to Dante's and poured an assload of coffee and water into me. 'm pretty sure I pissed out all the alcohol. He said you told him to send me home sober or I'd have to spend the night at his place, and I think he was already pissed enough about having to leave that redhead at the bar." Vince's voice sounded funny to him and he thought he may be talking too much. "If it makes you feel any better, he thinks I'm a jerk too… and my head hurts like fuck."

Brendan didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry. You know. I've had a shitty week, the study session was tough and… I was really glad you were there. Jesus, you looked so good. I just wanted us to have a good time, but when I saw that girl wrapped around you…"

Brendan shifted his weight. "Not sure I'm capable of working up any sympathy right now." He paused. "I wasn't encouraging her. In fact, I was trying—"

"I know that." Vince blew out a long breath. "Je-sus, Brendan, I know that."

"—not to be an ass. Unlike you. You really lost your shit."

Vince nodded. The room was so quiet, a flea fart would have made him jump.

"C'mere," Brendan mumbled after a moment.

Vince let his shoulders sag. There was more resignation in that voice than forgiveness. "No. You've got something to say, I can tell, so go ahead and say it. If I get in bed now, we'll just—then it won't matter what you say to me."

"That's a pretty big assumption you're making." The bed shook as Brendan turned over and moved to sit behind Vince. Vince ran his hands over Brendan's thighs. The cool air pebbled the warm skin, making the hairs stand up against his fingertips. "Okay, let's say, for argument's sake, I overreacted. I was embarrassed for you, Vince, and that puts me in a place I don't like. I understand having a bad day, I understand wanting to unwind and let go. I even understand not having sex for a week and, normally, I don't mind public shows of affection, but the way you did it, the reason you did it… to _mark your territory_? Don't objectify me. That's not who we are."

Vincent nodded. "I know…" He leaned forward and rummaged through the nightstand drawer until his fingers closed around what he was looking for.

Leaning back into the shelter of his lover's skin, Vince felt warm breath circle down over the plane of his shoulder. He sank into Brendan's raw strength. The strength Vince fed on, the strength he needed like the air he breathed. The strength he needed right then.

Deftly, he flipped the top on the small, felt-covered box and let it drop to the floor after taking what he needed. He felt for Brendan's hand and carefully slid the ring onto the third finger, past the first knuckle, and catching on the second before sliding easily the rest of the way, feeling the metal warm as it came to rest.

Neither one spoke as Vince thumbed nervously over this new element he'd put between them.

Brendan's breath became louder and tighter; Vince was almost afraid of what he might have to say. It wasn't at all how he'd planned to do this. It was supposed to be a real date: Lucia's, with dressing up, that booth near the back, veal chops and a bottle of Chianti. Fuck, what had he been thinking? Brendan probably would have thought all that studying had made him loopy. And he just might have had a good case to make for that.

But good or bad, it was done now. For better or worse, it would be either a wedge or a magnet, and time the only arbiter of that particular fate, he figured.

"Vince?" The word was warm against his neck. "What is—"

"Shhh." He took Brendan's hand and held it up so that it shone pale in the muted light from the curtained window, the thin metal gleam that severed Brendan's finger shone even paler. "It was my Uncle Mik's. I had it resized for you. He had such big hands."

"Okay. But what does it mean?"

Vincent swallowed. That was a damn good question. Hell, he didn't even know. "A promise?" he said slowly, as if he was testing the word, then shrugged.

He was weeks away from the end of the most demanding eight months of his life. Even all those times on the boat, making his way hadn't been this tough. There was no way he could do it two more years without Brendan. Without Brendan, it wouldn't even be worth it. But he couldn't say that; maybe that's what the ring was for.

Was that what this was? A proposal? An offer of a life together? Jesus fuck, why did being in love have to be so fucked? Vince bent forward and put his head in his hands, and it wasn't until Brendan asked him to repeat himself that he realized he might have said that out loud. He took a deep breath. Brendan was rubbing his back and it felt good. "I've got a job for the summer," he blurted. Anything to buy a little time. "Law clerk at Brandt and Williamson."

"Uptown? Nice."

"It'll look great on my resume. Not so great if they boot me out. It's fucking Brandt and Williamson, Bren."

"Yeah, I got that. And you're fucking Vincent Karvelas, so… Are you afraid of screwing up? I had friends who did summer clerkships. They screwed up… they're practicing law today." Vince wanted to melt beneath Brendan's strong hands and the sound of his voice. "You'll do fine… because you want it."

He was right about that. At that moment, there were two things in the world Vincent wanted: to become the best goddamn lawyer in the city and a lifetime with Brendan Dean. He just nodded and groaned as Brendan kneaded an especially tight knot in his shoulder.

"So this ring... is it like more of this branding thing, or—"

"No, just… will you just wear it? In the morning… if you change your mind or think I'm crazy or whatever, just… I don't know. Fuck."

Brendan pulled him back and brushed warm lips behind Vincent's ear. "Come to bed," he whispered, and Vince did.

They lay spooned together, Vince staring at a straggly shaft of light at the window until— "We haven't had sex in a week?" he asked.

Brendan huffed a laugh, a sad kind of laugh, Vince thought, like it was no surprise that he hadn't realized. Then silently, a hand slipped over Vince's hip and under the waist of the faded blue boxers.

Vince turned and reached up to thread his fingers in Brendan's hair. "God, yes, Bren…"

Vince felt Brendan's lips brush his shoulder, then Brendan's hand on his cock. He closed his eyes and let it all wash over him: the night, the ring, the way Brendan's hot breath drifted down across his nipples, making them hard the same way Brendan's loose grasp was making his dick hard. Vince held on tighter, the ache in his head making him feel he was floating higher and higher.

"Relax. I've got you… I've got you… so goddamn hard for me…"

Vince gasped as Brendan's grip tightened, milking precome he then thumbed over the sensitive head. "Fuck yeah… God, just… faster…"

Brendan obeyed, jacking Vince with short, tight strokes as he arched and pressed his own erection into Vincent's hip. "Vince…"

It wasn't really a whimper, and it wasn't begging, but it made Vince let go of Brendan and move his hand down to Brendan's dick. It was already hot, hard, and leaking, and Vince had to catch his breath before starting a rhythm he could keep while bucking up into Brendan's hand.

"Oh god, Vince… right there, right _there_…"

"Christ, Bren…" Vince worked him slow, the way Brendan liked, but could feel himself on the edge of flying apart. Brendan secured his other arm around Vince, tongue fucking Vince's ear, and that was hot… so fucking hot. The harsh, panting breath finally broke him, pushing Vince even further; every muscle bowstring taut. _I've got you… I've got you_ Then everything snapped, his hips lifting off the bed with the force of it. At the same time—

"Vince, please. God… there… don't…"

—Brendan pulsed in Vincent's hand, leaving hot come on his back. They sagged bonelessly into one another. Once their breathing had evened out, Brendan used the sheet to swipe at the space between them, then he pulled Vince close. Vince thought about saying something else, maybe apologizing again, but he never got the chance. Brendan's skin was too warm and Vince's eyelids were too heavy.

 

~~~

Aw fuck! How could his head still hurt? And how the hell come, out of the whole room, that one puny beam of sunlight picked his right eye to focus on? Flailing behind him, Vince found he was alone. He listened but there were no sounds of Brendan in the bathroom or the kitchen. The apartment sounded empty.

He dragged himself into a semi-seated position and reached for his phone. The ring box sat there on the nightstand, not on the floor where it had landed the night before. Fucking hell, was that the time?. There was a carton of orange juice beside the box. He grabbed it and pressed the speed dial for Brendan's cell, still glaring at the little black square.

_"Busy man running errands, how may I direct your call?"_

Vince screwed his face up into grin-laced grimace. It was necessary because Brendan's voice rivaled that pain-in-the-ass ray of sunlight. Brendan Dean was one of those up and at 'em types. Bastard. It wasn't exactly that Vincent wasn't a morning person, but in his book, morning would never equal chipper.

"You didn't wake me," he said laconically, scrubbing a hand over his face.

_"Thought you needed your beauty sleep. And I needed… well, I wanted to be by myself for a while."_ There was something in Brendan's voice he couldn't place.

The sheer emptiness of his stomach made Vince feel sick. He took another swig of juice and looked at the box again. "Where are you? You didn't go in to the office, did you?"

_"Hell no. I'm at the dry cleaners right now. Then I'm going to the market, the cell phone place to pick up that charger for you, and maybe Fleischmann's on the way home. I've got mad cravings for a meatball sub. Could you eat?"_

"But you hate doing all that," Vince replied, fingering the ring box, then finally picking it up.

_"Yeah."_

"Bren…" he began, easing the lid open, stomach feeling like those last few feet before the drop on a roller coaster – and not from thoughts of a meatball sub.

_"Talk fast, Karvelas, I'm burning minutes here."_

And then he realized what it was about Brendan's voice. And that said everything. Vince smiled back. "I'm starving. How about a Pastrami sandwich for later… and bring some of that O'Hara's stout."

Brendan mumbled something and clicked off, leaving Vince grinning like an idiot at the empty box.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Mischief5


End file.
